


Vengeance is Mine

by ericsonclan



Series: Olympus Has Fallen [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 09:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24348676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ericsonclan/pseuds/ericsonclan
Summary: Violet vows revenge on the man who killed her lover. Now it's all she has.
Relationships: Clementine & Violet (Walking Dead: Done Running), Minerva/Violet (Walking Dead: Done Running)
Series: Olympus Has Fallen [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740499
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (by Laura)

Minerva was dying. Her love lay there on the battlefield, the lifeblood seeping out of her still form, and Violet could do nothing. She had already lost consciousness, her last words a desperate plea for Violet to stay with her, to not chase after the man who had done this, but rather to hold her hand as the world around her grew dim. Violet had done just that, her tears joining the bloodstains on her shirt, a tapestry of her suffering. It was over now, and she was left alone in her desperation. Her choked sobs were the only sound to be heard amongst the realm of the fallen. 

A sudden noise behind her had Violet spinning around, blade drawn. Rather than the cowering looter she expected, a shining figure stood before her, possessing such radiance and power that he must be a god. His wings shone magnificently in the sun, contrasting the warmth of his brown, speckled skin. His eyes seemed soft as they looked upon her, as if full of pity.

“I’m sorry, little one, but it is her time,”

“Like hell it is,” Violet’s hand tightened on her weapon, her lip curled in a snarl.

The god glanced at her blade, unimpressed. “It is foolish to threaten a god in such a way,”

“Perhaps, but I’ve nothing left to lose,” She eyed him warily. He didn’t appear to have any sort of weapon. Instead, he simply carried a rod, two snakes intertwined along its length and a pair of golden wings at the top. This must be Hermes. A fitting mockery by the gods to send their sparkling messenger as undertaker for the mortal dead.

Hermes followed her eyes to his staff. “I won’t hurt you, but I will place you under a sleep if need be,”

“I’d like to see you try!” Violet lunged forward, aiming her blade at his side. He easily sidestepped the attack then rose up into the air, his wings moving gracefully behind him. He alighted beside Minerva’s still form, causing Violet’s heart to swell in panic.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” She swung out at him wildly. “I won’t let you take her away!” He blocked her attack this time, his caduceus making contact with her arm. Violet immediately felt the limb go limp, falling uselessly at her side, her blade clattering to the ground. She knelt to grasp it in her other hand, turning to face Hermes again.

He appeared saddened, his expression somber. “Such violence will accomplish nothing. If you wish however, I can give you more time in your grief. The battlefield is littered with the dead. I’ll return when my work elsewhere is done,”

She couldn’t find the words for a response, so Violet simply nodded.

With that, he stepped away from Minerva, moving instead toward a body that lay a few yards from them. From her place beside Minerva, Violet saw as he separated the spirit from the still form, speaking to it quietly as he offered a guiding hand. After a few moments, the spirit disappeared into the cloud of shimmering mist Hermes had conjured beside it. Violet’s arm tightened around Minerva. She couldn’t let her fade away into nothing.

After a time, Hermes wandered further away, to attend to the other fallen. Violet had the passing thought of picking Minerva up and running off with her while he was gone. Her arm still lay powerless at her side though, and it felt as though all strength had left her legs. It was folly to try to run from the messenger of the gods. Though her heart longed for escape, her body refused to agree. So she sat in dazed silence as the body of her beloved grew cold to her touch and night fell.

The evening shadows had begun to spread along the ground when Hermes returned. He knelt a fair distance from the pair, his hands empty. He watched her with curiosity, observing the way her arm locked around her lover, her form crouched and protective. “What was her name?”

“Her name’s Minerva,”

A soft smile crossed Hermes’ face. “Named after the goddess herself. An honor,”

“The goddess should be honored to share her name!” Violet’s eyes widened at her own boldness, but she did not take back her words.

Hermes looked surprised, but simply chuckled in response. “I like you, little one. There’s a fire in you that I don’t often have the pleasure of witnessing.”

“Don’t call me little,”

He raised his hands in surrender. “As you wish,” His expression grew serious. “All the dead have been laid to rest. Minerva deserves the same,”

Violet’s arm tightened around Minerva. “No,”

“If you do not allow her burial, then her spirit will become lost, doomed to wander this battlefield in search of its purpose. You do not wish that for her,”

“Then take me with her, to the realm of the dead,”

Hermes shook his head. “That is not my domain. I am simply the guide to the world beyond, nothing more,”

Violet’s eyes burned with tears. “If you’ll not take me, then I’ll force your hand!” She lunged toward her abandoned blade. Sensing her purpose, Hermes thrust his wings forward, throwing her back against the ground. When she rose up, he held the sword in his own hand. Throwing it behind him, he turned and knelt beside Minerva.

“No,” Violet whimpered, crawling forward.

But it was too late. Her spirit had begun to separate from her flesh, rising into the air to look upon the two of them in mute confusion.

“Your battle is over, brave one,” Hermes spoke, raising his hand toward her. You have earned your rest. Come,”

“Minerva!” Violet cried, stumbling forward.

The spirit did not seem to hear her. Instead, it extended its own hand, meeting Hermes’. As soon as their fingertips touched, she began to break apart, melting into a shower of brilliant stardust, shining as it fell until nothing remained.

Violet looked at the place where the spirit had been in horror, her feet collapsing underneath her. Her body convulsed with sobs as her grief overcame her.

Hermes stood before her, his task complete. “She was a noble warrior. She dwells within Elysium now, in the fields of glory,”

“Is that supposed to make me happy?” Violet muttered through gritted teeth.

“It is the highest honor a mortal can achieve,”

“Fuck honor. You think Minerva would care about something like that? No! She would want to be home, with her sister, with me!” She glared at Hermes, venom in her eyes. “Is this all some twisted game to you? A board on which you move all your mortal pieces until one falls and is replaced by another?”

“I won’t deny that this is the view of some on Olympus. It is not mine,”

“Get out of my sight! Your work is done, you have no purpose here!” She crawled over to Minerva’s corpse, taking it into her arms once more. She could feel the strength returning to her stunned arm, as if now that Hermes’ purpose was done, he had released her from his spell.

“And what of your purpose? What shall you do now?”

Violet stood to her feet shakily, trembling under the weight of Minerva’s form. “I’ll bury my love, and with her, myself,”

Hermes’ brow furrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

“I honored Minerva’s final wish, to stay with her as she died. Now I will honor my own, to watch the light fade from her murderer’s eyes,”

“Is that truly the path you wish to take? To spurn all in pursuit of what is lost?”

“Her death shall be answered for! If not by the gods, then by me!”

Hermes’ expression was somber. “I hope you give yourself time to think upon your words before you act. I cannot stop you, but…” he reached behind him, plucking one of the feathers from his wings. “Take this. If you ever have need of me, burn this feather and I’ll find you,”

Violet looked silently at the feather. Her hands were full.

Hermes stepped forward, tucking the feather behind her ear. “May you find peace,”

“I’ll make my own peace,” With that, Violet strode away, leaving the golden god in her dust, beginning the long trek home to a cold hearth and an empty bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet's quest for vengeance begins as she tracks the man who murdered Minerva.

It wasn’t hard to find him. He’d been boasting at all the taverns he visited along the coast on his way home, describing in gruesome detail for anyone who would listen how many of the Amazons he had killed, the women he had gutted and crippled, maimed beyond recognition. Most of his stories were the drunken falsehoods of a wine-addled mind, but one was true: the story of a tall, red-haired Amazon he had cut down and left to die in her lover’s arms.

He particularly liked to tell that story, probably because it was true and that helped him deliver it with an extra level of panache. He’d wave wildly for everyone to gather round, exclaiming loudly that he couldn’t believe they didn’t recognize him or hadn’t heard of all of his heroic exploits. Wrapping his arm around the nearest bystander, he’d try to cajole them into buying him a drink as the price for his story, an offer they often refused. He always found drink somehow though, sooner or later.

She’d been tracking him for several days now, watching and waiting for the opportunity to strike. He was an infuriatingly social man, always in someone’s company. But that couldn’t always be the case. Eventually she would catch him on his own. Till then, Violet sat in the corners of taverns, listening to his tales of mercenary valor, and feeling the rage within her ferment and boil. All this would be worth it when she could feel her dagger twist within his belly. Minerva would be avenged along with all her fallen sisters. Men like this could not be allowed to live.  
It happened one night, the sky drizzling down upon all who roamed the streets, that the moment arrived. The man’s companions went back inside the tavern before him, leaving him drunkenly fumbling along the side of the tavern in the dark, looking for a place to piss. Violet stepped out of the darkest shadows, her cloak still obscured by the night as she grasped onto the man’s arm and spun him round.

“What the hell!” the man slurred, looking down at her in anger. “What’s your business with me, interrupting my piss to-” his tirade was cut short by a pained gasp as her knife entered him, twisting with a sickening squelch. Violet pulled out the knife, watching as he slumped down to the ground, grasping his stomach in shock. He looked up at her with watery eyes. “Wh-why?”

“You don’t remember me?” Violet scoffed. “The Amazon who gave up chase to let her lover die in her arms? You escaped death by my hand that day. You won’t be so lucky now!” She lunged forward again, this time meeting resistance as her knife slashed the man’s arms, raised in a pathetic attempt at defense.

“Please, you have the wrong man!” he wailed. “I was simply a lowly foot soldier fulfilling orders. I was nowhere near the front lines!”

“Coward!” Violet spat, kicking him viciously. “Now that there aren’t any drinks or praise to be found in telling your tale, you change your tune? Don’t think that any argument can save your miserable life!”

“Anaxagoras!” the man cried. “He’s the one you want! He ordered the attack on your village to furnish the halls for his upcoming wedding. Were it not for him, your woman would still be alive!”

“It was your hand that killed her! Mine shall take yours in payment!” With that Violet descended upon him with a series of merciless blows, draining the lifeblood from him with each hit. The first blow had been fatal, but a slow death was better than she wished for him. He needed to feel the terror she had, writhe in the agony of his imminent death with none to save him. The rain pounded harder upon them, cloaking the cries of her victim as he continued to beg. Finally, she hit another vital point and the blood rushed forth, taking his life in a single stroke. The light vanished from his eyes and every limb went limp. Raindrops slid down his face, becoming pink as they carried his blood down to the dirt.

Violet rose shakily. Her hands were slick with the man’s blood, her clothes stained beyond repair. The night held nothing but silence. The storm had kept anyone inside the tavern from hearing what happened without. Taking her shirt, she dragged it along the edge of her blade, wiping it clean before returning it to its sheath. The deed was done. Now she must flee before anyone came across the corpse and the river of blood slowly seeping through the twists and turns of the stones beneath them.

Something was here. Violet sensed it suddenly, as though it had always been there but had only now revealed itself. She turned, feeling her insides twist in dread. She recognized the being for what she was immediately: a god. Not a bright star like the one who’d met her upon the battlefield, but a dread goddess, wings huge and stark against the battering rain. The blood seemed to trickle towards her, gathering round her feet in a testament to her power. She stood watching Violet, silent.

What was she to do? Address the god? Pay obeisance to it, groveling in the mud and begging for mercy as the man that laid at her feet had done? No, she would not pretend to feel guilt for what she had done. She raised her head, eyes meeting the god’s. “Have you come to kill me?”

“I’ve come as a witness, to attend to your victory,”

“That’s all you’re here for? To watch?”

“I am Nike. I am present in all victories, no matter the kind,”

“So, I’m a victor then?” Violet let out a breath of disgust. “You plan to congratulate me?”

“Do you believe all victories deserve congratulation?”

“This wasn’t about victory. It was vengeance. A correction of the scales,”

“And now they’ve reached equilibrium?”

Violet looked down at the corpse before her. “Of course not. This pathetic wretch’s life for Minerva’s? They don’t compare,”

“A hollow victory then,”

It was true. The rage that had fueled Violet in these last days was still present, burning within her blood. The man’s cries of terror, the flowing of his blood, were over too soon. Instead of his frantic squeals, Minerva’s desperate gasps for air returned to her, the death rattle resounding within her mind. It wasn’t enough. This couldn’t be the end.

Violet looked up to address the god once more, but she was gone. Nothing but a muddied pool of blood where she had stood. A cow lowed in the distance, bringing Violet’s feet into motion. She must leave this place. There was nothing left for her here. She turned down the back alley she had come from, returning into the cold embrace of night. What now? Would she return home, to the wailing and the smell of the dead? No, home was gone. What now then?

The events of the murder played out hazily within Violet’s mind. She could feel the man struggling against her, his will fading. What was the name he had shouted? The scapegoat he’d thrown her way? Anaxagoras. A man who’d used the bloodied spoils of war to decorate his wedding hall. His name could not have stilled her hand from taking the murderer’s life, but it could join that wretch in the afterlife. Another sacrifice thrown upon the altar of her grief. Perhaps that would sate her soul.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet continues her quest for vengeance at the home of Anaxagoras.

“Vi, wake up,” Minerva’s soft, playful voice drifted down through the haze of Violet’s sleep-addled mind.

Blinking, Violet cracked open an eye, looking lazily at her lover. Minerva was already wide awake, watching her with amusement as she awaited the start of their day. With a groan, Violet took   
Minerva’s hand, pulling it towards her. “Five minutes,”

“Come on, slugabed,” Minerva scolded, lightly pushing her. “It’s time to hunt. I bet I’ll catch more than you,” She was right. If Minerva wasn’t already the stronger hunter, Violet would have held herself back just to see the smile of victory that would adorn Minerva’s face if she won.

With a final moan of protest, Violet rolled out of bed, beginning the preparations for the day.

“That’s the spirit!” Minerva’s eyes were lit with excitement as she waited for Violet to join her. At last Violet was ready. Hand in hand, they opened the door of their home…

Violet woke up. Cold, hungry, alone. And remembered that Minerva was dead. Never again would she see that smile or feel the caress of her hand holding hers. All she had were her memories and they only made the pain worse. Her despair had set root within her, hardening and strengthening her will until it was all that remained of her. She would complete her mission. Anaxagoras must die. 

Violet’s footsteps barely made a sound as she travelled the halls of the renowned warrior. She had been able to pilfer a set of serving girl clothes from the lines where they dried outside the property. Now she could wander freely, the only thing she carried a knife strapped high on her thigh, hidden amidst the layers of fabric that clothed her. The layout was simple: kitchens and service facilities on the outside, the rooms of the family in the center of it all. She drifted through the rooms of the villa without issue, none who passed her in the hallways suspecting her goal.

Anaxagoras’ room was dimly lit as she entered. The sound of tittering gave Violet a good idea as to what was going on. Her stomach twisted at the thought, but her resolve remained steady. If this was what it took to gain access, she would maintain a mask until her moment arrived. Stepping through the doorway, she was immediately met with the heady smell of perfume and copious alcohol. Even now weeks after the battle Anaxagoras was celebrating the slaughter of her sisters.  
The sounds stopped for a moment as her presence was noted.

“Who’s there!” Anaxagoras called out angrily. His expression changed to one of smug approval. “Ah, have you come to join in, girl? There’s always more room within my bed,”  
Violet focused on keeping her expression blank as she approached, the cold steel of her blade centering her as her mind reeled with revulsion. The other girl moved aside, giving her space to join them. Violet nodded for her and Anaxagoras to continue, taking a secondary role as she circled round the couple, accepting Anaxagoras’ groping advances only as much as was needed to keep up the act. He was a stout man, built like a mighty oak. She’d need every advantage she could muster to come through this alive.   
Now she was behind him. Massaging Anaxagoras’ shoulders, Violet shifted her position, trying to get leverage on the hulking warrior. Her elbow dug into a knot on his back while her free hand reached down to grasp her knife. The best course would be to slit his throat, his weakest point. It would be over in seconds. Drawing her blade, Violet lifted it behind Anaxagoras, tilting it just enough to angle the kill-

The girl screamed, her eyes catching the gleam of the knife. Violet’s blow struck, but Anaxagoras had turned to see what was happening, the knife cutting flesh but missing a fatal blow. He immediately pinned Violet against the bed, his breath hot as he glowered at her in anger. “Think you can kill me, bitch? You should think again!”

Violet shot her knee into Anaxagoras’ gut with all her might. He let out an annoyed grunt before slapping her across the face with such force it sent her mind reeling. She could feel her arm being twisted, releasing the knife. In desperation, Violet struck out with her free hand, gripping the side of Anaxagoras’ head and thrusting her thumb within his eye. His cry of pain was sharp but quickly turned to anger as he reached out, thrusting Violet’s head against the wall. White lights danced before her eyes as she heard Anaxagoras drawing back for another strike.

Violet let her body drop, dodging the blow just in time. She hadn’t heard her blade clatter to the ground. It must be here amongst the bedding. Her hands roamed through it frantically when all of a sudden, she felt a pair of hands wrap round her throat, pressing tight. “I’ll kill you right here and now and throw your body to the curs!” Violet couldn’t breathe. He was going to crush her windpipe within moments if she didn’t do something, but he held the advantage in strength and position. She couldn’t break free.

A finger brushed against her blade. Grasping it, Violet struck backwards blindly, hoping to land a hit. Blood flew across her face. She heard Anaxagoras hiss in pain and the hands round her neck drew back. Violet let out a rough, shaky gasp, collapsing against the bed. She had no time to recover. He was almost upon her again. Rolling over, Violet saw Anaxagoras looming over her, about to strike. With a mighty cry, she thrust her blade upwards, embedding it within his belly.

He jerked back involuntarily, pulling away from the blow. Violet’s grip on her blade remained firm. Twisting the weapon, she heard a sickening squelch. A guttural groan came from Anaxagoras. He reached out a hand, roughly grasping Violet’s hair. She had to finish this. Snarling, Violet wrenched the blade towards herself. Anaxagoras’ organs spilled out from within him, toppling on her in a mass of bile and blood before his limp corpse pinned her once more to the bed. It was over. He was dead.

Struggling against the weight of his carcass, Violet wormed her way out, her blade still clutched within her hand. She reeked of blood and death, a smell that made her sick despite its continual presence in her life. She still felt dizzy; it was unclear how long she had before she’d pass out. Shakily, Violet raised herself to her knees, looking round to see if any in the house approached. The girl that had been with them had ran. It was only a matter of time before they’d come to hunt her down.

A deep red amidst the shadows drew her eye. Violet’s eyes narrowed, wondering if it was a trick in the darkness or her own pounding head that tricked her. Neither were true. The blood-red goddess stood before her once more, watching her with unchanging eyes. Had she been here this entire time? Was she here planning to witness Violet’s victory or her demise?

Violet spat, blood spurting out from her lips. ‘Here for your entertainment?”

“I am here because it is what I am,”

Violet rolled her eyes. The gods were useless as always. She descended from the bed, her legs shaky underneath her. She had to leave before the adrenaline coursing through her veins wore out.   
Her gaze drifted to the floor. A trail of blood followed her steps. But that was not what gave her pause. A clay vase stood nearby her, its surface inscribed with portraits of women in war gear. The Amazons. Her kindred. Had this been looted during the battle. Her eyes travelled round the room once more, realizing how full it was. The floor was covered in the spoils of war, the wealth of her people.

She could feel her body shaking with rage. All that blood shed simply so Anaxagoras could furnish his home with her people’s belongings… he deserved worse than death. Her eyes turned to the goddess, burning wildly. “Is this all of it? Everything he took?”

“There was more earlier. Most was given away to guests during the victory celebrations,”

Of course she would know of that. She’d been a witness to Anaxagoras’ victories as well, watching his merrymaking with just as aloof an expression as she’d observed his death. There was no point in directing wrath at the goddess though. She was untouchable, unable to be swayed by anything Violet might do. The party guests though, they were another story. “Tell me their names,” Violet growled. “All those who walked away with full bellies and hands from the slaughter of my people,”

Nike shook her head. “It is not my place to say,”

“Then I’ll find them myself!” Violet turned her back to the deity. striding from the room without another glance. This was far from over. She would not rest till all who’d taken part in the massacre of the Amazons had fallen by her hand. She was no longer a woman, only a weapon to be pointed at those who deserved to fall. She would not let herself be broken until all lay dead before her, a river of blood to match her homeland.


End file.
